Braunschweiger: The ’Wurst?

“Lost in the Supermarket” has been on
hiatus for a few months. If this is your first, welcome. For the column,
I mostly play the “food rube,” searching the aisles of average
neighborhood grocery stores for “everyday” items that strike me (and
maybe you) as “weird” or “gross.” I investigate the food item and taste
it so you don’t have to. (I’m far from a foodie, so please don’t hold my
ignorance against me too much.)

The hiatus came about as CityBeat
switched ownership. Our new corporate overlords had me undergo several
physical check-ups and there were long meetings with lawyers to make
sure the company couldn’t be held liable for any tasting-related
illnesses (or deaths). I finally was cleared for resumption of my silly
little taste test just this week.

This edition should put all those
background checks to the test. I wanted to come back with a gross bang,
so I selected one of the more dreaded items from my “Maybe dare try
this?” list — Braunschweiger, the form of liverwurst most popular in the
Cincinnati area (likely due to our rich German heritage).

The “Code of Federal Regulations”
describes the “soft meat” thusly: “‘Braunschweiger’ is a cooked sausage
made from fresh, cured, and/or frozen pork, beef, and/or veal and at
least 30 percent pork, beef, and/or veal livers computed on the weight
of the fresh livers. It may also contain pork and/or beef fat.”

In an earlier column on headcheese and
hot souse, I shared my experiences working for a few years at a Kroger
deli in a low-income Cincinnati neighborhood and explained how someone
ordering those eclectic “meats” was one of our biggest fears as closing
time approached. After fully scrubbing down the meat-slicer for the
night, if someone came in one minute before the doors were locked and
ordered a pound of hot souse, we were obligated to slice the gelatinous
mess, meaning we’d be stuck for another 15 minutes re-cleaning.

Related content

Unless
we hid in the back or lied and said, “Oooh, JUST ran out of that.”

But the worst (pun neither intended nor
unintended) was when someone would order Braunschweiger (most commonly
ordered as simply “liverwurst”) as we clerks were putting on our coats
and walking out the door. Actually, any time we sliced
liverwurst, the slicer needed immediate re-cleaning (the only such meat
we sold). People are very particular about the thickness of their slices
of Braunschweiger; “about a half-inch” wasn’t so bad (you could
sometimes get away with just using a knife), but God help us if the
request was for “very thin.” With the brown meat’s spreadable softness,
the slicer would resemble a Port-O-Potty at a chili festival afterwards.

I was never in a big hurry to actually try Braunschweiger. The revulsion was mostly from the visuals, but there was also the foul, livery odor.

After procrastinating even more than
usual, I finally headed to my favorite local grocer’s deli to order a
slice. “No, sorry we don’t have any; there is some along the wall,” the
clerk told me, pointing to the pre-slice bologna. (It wasn’t near
closing time and she seemed sincere.)

I found a pile of store-brand “Chunk
Braunschweiger,” about a 6-inch-long, three-inch-wide, one-pound tube,
and reluctantly put it in my cart. Pork has been the source of way too
many of my taste-tests (Spam, pig’s feet, Baconaise, pork rinds, etc.);
Braunschweiger was yet another pig-product. Top three ingredients: pork
livers, pork fat and bacon.

In a way, it’s the poor man’s foie gras.

Doing some quick research, I learned that
B-Schweig is commonly eaten sliced and on a sandwich, usually on rye
bread and accompanied by hot mustard and pickles. So I couldn’t get away
with just trying a half-teaspoon; I got out some wheat bread pitas and
generic spicy mustard (best I could do) and sliced off a half-inch from
the loaf. Still intimidated, I sliced it in half.

The smell brought back memories; not as
foul as I remember, but not totally pleasant (think peppery liver cat
food). I took one big bite, then started pacing/dancing around the house
(to the amusement of my family). At first, I thought, “Not horrible,”
then got through the bread and mustard taste. As I chewed, more of the
Braunschweiger flavoring came through. I paced faster, then my gag
reflex kicked in.

I had to spit it out after 45 seconds to avoid it coming out reflexively.

Braunschweiger tastes exactly like it
smells — peppery liver cat food. And, like many spiced pork products,
the taste lingers. As someone who ate the similarly textured “deviled
ham” by the can-ful growing up, I can see how it could just be an
“acquired taste.” But life’s too short and it’s not a taste I’m
especially excited about acquiring.

Is it the worst of the ’Wurst? I’m not
sure. But if it’s the best, I won’t be knocking over senior citizens at
the deli counter to get my mouth on whatever is deemed the second best
any time soon.